XVI

WOOLF’S STUDY

The third key Rollison tried opened the middle drawer in Woolf ’s desk. Two of the side drawers remained locked. He found the keys for them, pulled each drawer open, and glanced inside. The middle drawer held a blotting-pad, pens and pencils, oddments. Another contained notepaper and envelopes; everything was very tidy.

In the first of the smaller locked drawers were an address book, several account-books, confidential papers. He put these on one side, and tried the other. In it were several manilla folders; in one of these were photographs of several people, including Marion-Liz and Harry Keller. Rollison glanced at the murdered man’s round pudge of a face, put the photograph aside and studied the others. He knew several of them. Names were written in pencil on the back – and the first name to ring a bell was Nathaniel Lane – Solicitor.

Marion-Liz’s father looked elderly, amiable, and benevolent, a grey-haired, full-faced man with tufts of hair at his temples and bushy eyebrows.

Then Reginald Rowse grinned up at him, looking more Irish in the photograph than he did in real life.

The police could draw their own conclusions from this. Rollison wanted only that knife.

He opened the last drawer. Inside were two automatics and some spare clips of ammunition, and a much smaller gun. This could be held in the palm of the hand and remain unnoticed, but could be lethal.

He stood up and looked round the room, for the safe.

One long wall, opposite the heavily curtained windows, was filled with books. The glazed shelves were built to the height of the picture-rail at either end, but went only half-way up the wall between these ends. On the top shelf of the lower section were several ornaments. The room was furnished tastefully, obviously belonging to a man who could put his hands on plenty of money.

At one end was a fireplace, easy-chairs, low tables; nothing there concealed a safe, unless it was behind a picture. That would mean a wall combination safe.

He went across to the window and pulled a curtain aside cautiously, opened a window wide, and then put the curtain back, so that only a sliver of fight showed outside. He turned to the end of the room which he hadn’t examined closely. The door through which he had entered was here, and against the wall behind it, a large cabinet. Cocktails? He went across and opened the top part; yes, bottles and glasses were fitted into little partitions, a neat and attractive array, but they didn’t take up the whole of the cabinet. He tried to open the door in the bottom part; it was locked.

He used a small key from Woolf ’s bunch, and the door sagged open. The safe lay behind it. The knife, too?

There were two keyholes, one very small; and there was a long, thin key which fitted it. The safe was unfamiliar; in some makes it was necessary to use the correct key first, if the wrong one were turned it jammed the second lock. He examined the long key carefully, but there was no marking on it. He tried those keys he hadn’t yet used, until he found one that appeared to fit the second lock – the only one, and, therefore, almost certainly the correct one. He drew it out without turning it and examined it closely, but found no markings. Woolf would know which one to use first, there was no reason why there should be any indication. He went closer to the safe door itself and peered at the dull-finished steel, sometimes the locks themselves were marked.

These weren’t.

‘Can I help you?’ asked a woman.

Rollison straightened up slowly, and didn’t look round. The ‘can I help you’ seemed to ring in his ears louder than an alarm bell, but he checked the rise of panic and the temptation to feel for his gun. He saw a reflection in a picture on the wall above the cabinet, but could only see the vague outline of a woman’s head and shoulders.

‘Don’t be shy,’ she said.

She had a pleasant voice, deep, slightly husky. He expected to see beauty. He turned, slowly, and his lips curved in a smile, showing nothing of his thumping heart.

She stood quite still, dressed in a royal blue dressing-gown which was waisted and very square on the shoulders, and showed only a shallow ‘V’ at the neck. It touched the floor; the toes of red slippers poked beneath it. The skirt was full and fell in heavy folds about her.

She wasn’t young; not really young; but she was superb to look at.

Behind her, one of the tall sections of the bookshelves was open a few inches; the shelves concealed a door.

She had dark hair, with a streak of grey which started at the forehead and was swept back. Her hair fell to her shoulders in waves; not natural, but did that matter? Her complexion was lovely; she had on a little make-up.

‘Mr. Rollison, I presume,’ she said. ‘Will you have a drink?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Then have a cigarette.’

She backed to a table, and with her left hand, groped for a cigarette from a box. She held an automatic pistol in her right hand. She took the cigarette and then a lighter from the table, flicked it into flame, and drew on the tobacco. Then she backed a little farther away and motioned him to the box. He moved across and lit a cigarette, the keys jangling in his hand.

‘Where did you get those keys?’

‘Just my luck,’ murmured Rollison. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you that I was born under a lucky star?’

‘I’ve never had much time for astrology, and you shouldn’t have, now. Supposing I were to telephone for the police – they’d be delighted.’

‘And you would have done your civic duty.’

‘That’s right. Have you any objection?’

Rollison laughed and waved his right hand.

‘None at all, carry on.’

She didn’t move towards the telephone, which was behind her.

‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be to our mutual advantage,’ said Rollison earnestly. ‘Possibly you’ve a black past, too. You wouldn’t be Mrs. Woolf, would you?’

She smiled at that, as if she really thought it funny – an unexpected reaction from a wife hearing a slur on her husband, unless she sailed through life ready and eager to be amused at anything. The glint in her eyes wasn’t just of amusement; there was malice in it.

‘I am Mrs. Woolf,’ she said.

‘Now we know each other, what could be cosier?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Oh, just an odd thing or two – proof that Leo has been murdering people, and all that kind of thing.’

‘And you think he would keep it in his safe?’

She made no denial, but the laughter in her eyes was touched with venom. Towards whom? She was superbly confident, and that was partly her nature, not all due to the gun in her hand. She went to a chair and sat down, but all the time the gun covered him. He believed that she would shoot as readily as Woolf had done; and probably to kill.

‘Useful things, safes,’ said Rollison. ‘The odd thing is that so many people think they are. Safe, I mean. Men have a pathetic faith in them – even clever crooks. They seem to have the notion that only their own safes are safe from burglars.’

‘Perhaps they do. What exactly do you want?’

‘The name of the girl-friend who was at Hexley on Wednesday night. Was Leo out of town?’

She didn’t answer.

‘You wouldn’t know where he is now, would you?’ asked Rollison.

He tapped the ash off his cigarette, and rested his right hand at his waist; he had only to slide his hand into his pocket to get at his gun.

‘Don’t you know?’ she asked.

He smiled, and didn’t answer.

‘Where is Leo?’ She was obviously striving to keep back anger, the smile was as much pose as anything else. ‘You must have seen him, to get his keys.’

What would she say, if she knew that he was dead?

‘Oh, I saw him,’ he said. ‘We had an interesting chat. It was a pity the girl was with us, I think he would have been more frank if he’d been alone, but—’

She spat, ‘What girl?’

‘I wouldn’t know her name. A very nice young lady, I should say, and …’

The woman’s eyes blazed with anger. She was aware of Woolf ’s affaires, was fiercely jealous. Could that be the explanation of the strange light in her eyes?

‘Where is he?’

‘Oh, still around, I expect.’

‘How did you get the keys?’

Rollison rubbed his chin and said apologetically, ‘I’m afraid I was unkind. He annoyed me, and I hit him. Look.’ He held out his left hand; the knuckles were slightly grazed, there was a smear of blood on two of them. ‘He was so surprised that he didn’t hit back, and I had no trouble taking the keys away. I left him dismayed, but not very active. True, I don’t think he’ll have much regard for me in future, I’m always making bad friends. Men especially are allergic to me.’

‘I can believe that,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe that you did all that to Leo.’

‘Oh, he’s nothing like so good as he thinks he is.’

Rollison moved forward, casually.

‘Don’t come too close,’ she warned.

For all he knew, the police had identified Woolf. The sound of police cars might come through the open window at any moment. He had only limited time; and the safe might yield exactly what he wanted. But the woman was more dangerous than the man had been.

She wasn’t in a hurry; she was likely to enjoy a cat-and-mouse game. She didn’t know that Woolf was dead and that the police might arrive at any moment. But if he were too anxious, she would guess he was on edge.

‘Oh, come,’ he protested mildly, ‘must we have guns, between friends? You offered to help – which key should be used first?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I wish I did.’

‘You know,’ murmured Rollison, ‘there are moments when I doubt if you’re as closely attached to Leo as he would like to think. Why do you wish you did?’

‘There is plenty I’d like to find in his safe.’

‘Couldn’t we strike a bargain?’

She didn’t answer.

‘After all, I could try,’ said Rollison. ‘I might choose the wrong one, and we’d be no farther on, but if I chose the right one, we could take what we want. Full satisfaction all round, I can’t imagine we want exactly the same thing.’ He lifted the long, thin key. ‘Shall I try?’

‘Yes,’ she said.